To Fall, or Fly
by neverbirds
Summary: "Woody has never been stupid; naive, maybe, but he knows a distant memory is just that. He'll never see Andy again. Andy grew up, and he's not getting any younger." Introspect on a scene from Toy Story 3; spoilers apply. Very slight Woody/Buzz/Jessie.


**AN: **Toy Story fanfiction is not something I ever expected to write, but this scene moved me in so many ways that I just had to do an introspective piece on it. Obviously my first time in the fandom. :3

* * *

There is no need for words – there hasn't been for a long time.

They're just toys. Just moulded plastic and cotton stitching; nothing more. So why does this hurt so much? The inevitability. Their death.

_I have to find Andy._

Woody never should have gone back. Then his friends – his _family- _wouldn't be about to burnburnburn until their remains melt into one, for all eternity.

_Andy's going to college tomorrow._

There's no need for words. Woody can't look; watch as his friends accept their fate. Can't watch as they understand with only a simple glance, the twitch of expression. Woody can't accept, can't understand. Minutes ago they were free. Now, they've never been more contained.

_Andy was taking me to college. _

He's sinking deeper and deeper and closer and closer and there's nothing he wants more than to be tucked in Andy's bed, plastic hand resting on flesh. But Woody has never been stupid; naive, maybe, but he knows a distant memory is just that. He'll never see Andy again. Andy grew up, and he's not getting any younger.

_I have to be there for Andy. _

This is all happening so fast – the heat itches down his back and in his cotton heart. His life doesn't flash before his eyes, but he does remember – remembers being picked off the shelf. Andy writing his name on his shoe. He remembers Bo, and he remembers Bo being taken away. Andy took Bo away from him, let her be thrown away like trash and burnt in the very way the rest of them are in a matter of minutes.

_Andy. It's written on my shoe._

He remembers Buzz. He remembers hating Buzz; he remembers growing to love him. He remembers Jessie and Bullseye and Stinky Pete. He remembers the first night he didn't sleep in Andy's bed. He remembers years of darkness, trapped in a chest.

_Where are you, Andy?_

What is clearest to Woody, however, is the constant of his friends. After all they've been through –

_I've found you every time before, Andy. Why should this be any different?_

- maybe dying here, with them and only them, isn't so bad. He can't go on clinging to the name on his shoe forever.

He turns around and swallows. Maybe he can accept, maybe he can understand. He looks at their hands, and he thinks: _I love you._ He looks at Buzz and Jessie, fingers interlinked best as toys can and he ignores the dull ache of jealously that resides in his woollen stomach. He looks at Buzz, and there's no need for words.

_Your name is burning, Andy; it's burning off me._

Buzz understands. He understood what Woody is thinking: this is my fault, Woody thinks. I did this to you.

He doesn't mind. None of them do. He looks at Jessie, and she smiles back. Seconds have passed and he's accepted. He's understood.

_I miss you, Andy. Rescue me. _

Buzz offers his hand and Woody knows this is it: the end of their adventure. There's so much he wants to tell them all, but there's no need for words. Not now. Not anymore. Woody takes Buzz's hand and squeezes, the simple action saying more than mere toys ever could. It says: I'm glad I met you. It says: Our friendship will never die.

_I love you, Andy._

He looks at Mr and Mrs Potato Head, happy together, safe inside the cocoon of their love. He looks at Hamm, forever determined. He looks at Rex, braver than he ever was, his brow set in fierce pride and his eyes, pleading. The perfect oxymoron. He looks at Slinky and Slinky looks back, sad and forgiving, and Woody knows that he has to be here for his friend; not Andy.

_Please, Andy._

Joined together, they are united. They are the best family Woody could have ever hoped for. He is their leader, yes: but he needs them as much and they need him.

In death, they are equal. In death, he loves them and they love him – the same as in life, in pain, in joy.

He looks at Buzz and Jessie coiled up together. He looks at himself and he joins them, moves closer.

_Andy._

They are together. That is all that matters.

Together, they prepare themselves. To infinity and beyond, he thinks. He wants to tell them, but there's no need for words. They already know.

_Save me. _

They are ready, Woody knows.

Not to fly: but to fall, with style.


End file.
